


My Daughter, The Dancer

by Bookwormsarah



Category: Ballet Shoes - Noel Streatfeild
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:26:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwormsarah/pseuds/Bookwormsarah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A possible backstory for one of the Fossils.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Daughter, The Dancer

I recognised her, of course. She has the red curls of her father, but she moves as I did, once upon a time. She still has the name I gave her. I am thankful for that. The old man didn’t lie. Her surname isn’t the same as his, but I am still sure. I would recognise my baby anywhere.

I have no right to call her that, but she was mine once. Mine for the few months when I was so scared and so lonely. None of the neighbours would speak to me, not that they had any right to judge. I had to pay old Mrs Frost to watch her so I could keep working. I was lucky, I got my figure back within a few weeks and I could start dancing again.

The theatre was small, but I had worked there before, and the manager knew me. It was a musical comedy, and I danced my heart out. It was the only way I knew to forget my stupidity, forget my mistakes, forget my worries for the future. I danced because it was the only thing to do. I danced because it was the only thing I could do.

When I was small, Mother had insisted I should have dancing lessons, and I took to it like a duck to water. Miss Thomas was very strict, and made us work hard. I learned later that she had given us an excellent grounding in the basics, but there was never a chance I could go to one of the great ballet schools. As soon as I was old enough, I went on the stage, as a dancing sweet or a robin and even once as a dancing clothes peg in Aladdin. I progresses to bigger roles, but they always called me ‘Little Bea’ and dressed me younger than I was.

I was quite famous, in the theatre circles. I did some variety shows, usually ballet, and was billed close to the top at the London Palladium and the Hackney Empire. The stage door Johnnies queued to meet me, and to ask me to dinner. I had so many hopes and dreams, I used to say yes, thinking that perhaps I would find my handsome prince.

His name was Ralph and he had a smile that melted my heart. I was nineteen and living in digs. I never had much money, the theatre liked us to be smartly dressed for the public, so offers of meals helped eke out my wages. I was always well behaved, and wore my prettiest frocks. I never took money or let them buy me expensive things, but Ralph was different. He was dashing, but a little nervous and uncertain. He was a perfect gentleman and he took me dancing. I floated in his arms, and he brought me champagne. He said I was the most topping girl in the world. He was loyal and devoted, and I really believed that he was going to propose. He said he had something special to show me, and we took a train to the seaside where his cousin had a cottage. It was January and there was almost nobody about. We danced on the sands in the winter sunlight and he cooked sausages over a fire. Then it rained and we had to run to the cottage to shelter. It was so cosy by the fire he made, and he held me tightly and I felt warm and safe and loved and I knew it was wrong but I didn’t mean to be bad and I really thought he loved me and we were almost engaged.

Then, of course, things changed. He seemed to expect me to go back to his flat every time we went dancing. I was so scared, but I wanted to go and I loved him so very much. He talked about our future together. I think he believed it too.

He was killed in a railway accident five weeks after we went to the seaside.

I thought that I was sick and dizzy from grief, but it was life and not death. The manager was understanding, but when I realised what was wrong, he let me go. I took in some sewing to pay for my food and my rent, making the costumes I had once worn, sewing fluffy tutus and darning ballet shoes for spoilt little darlings, I sold my pretty dresses, and I even scrubbed a few floors. Ralph’s cousin Billy gave me some money and a few things of Ralph’s, but told me never to contact him again in case his wife thought the wrong things, and I made it last until it was my time. Mrs Frost’s daughter brought the baby, and I felt joy for just a little while. Then I started to worry about food again.

I called her Posy because Ralph loved to give me flowers. He said I was like a flower myself. He could think of nothing more beautiful and one day we would have a garden.

The theatre owner had heard of me. I don’t know how. Maybe he saw me dance, for I was one of group from the company invited to take drinks with some wealthy friends of his four months after the birth of my baby. One was a professor who had kind eyes, and he was the only one who saw me trying not to cry when the manager boasted about his newly married daughter. The professor saw me trying to slip away and asked me about my troubles. We sat on a back staircase and I confessed. I still do not know why I trusted him, but I did. He smiled, and slapped his lame leg, and said that he had two babies that he had adopted, and that three was a fine number for a nursery, should I be interested.

Of course I knew what I must do. With me, Posy would have a life of scrimping and saving, and the stigma of no living father, and no father’s name. With this gentleman she would be an orphan who lived in a respectable house. She would be loved and cared for by his niece. She would have sisters to love her and play with her. I knew I had to give her away.

I wanted to write her a letter, so that when she was older she might understand. I wanted her to know that she came from love, but I knew that it was best if she thought me dead. Instead, I tucked my ballet shoes into the basket beside her. I only had two pairs, and I gave her the newer of the two. She should know that I was not a pauper, and I wanted her to have the most precious thing I owned.

After she had gone, the house seemed silent. I could smell her in the air, and see touches of powder and baby clothes, even after I had given them to Mrs Frost for her daughter’s little ones. I worked as hard as I could, and I managed to get a part in a touring dancing company, more serious work than my musical comedy days. I was glad to put my old home behind me and live somewhere new.

I am old now, and I no longer dance. My husband likes to take me to the theatre and I tell him about my dancing days. He thinks it sounds terribly exciting and romantic, and I let him think that. He will never know about my baby girl, the dancer. Our own two children were born during the War, and were children of rationing and rebuilding. My husband lost part of his foot in Italy, and sometimes the way he walks reminds me of the old professor. My sons are fine boys, but with none of the air and lightness of my daughter. They grease their hair and love a different kind of dancing.

When I saw Posy Fossil dance with the great ballet company on their first English tour, I knew she was mine. I saved the programme and I look at her picture. My husband buys me ballet magazines, and I seek the details. She is mine, but she will never know. She is my secret, my darling, my baby. And she has her father’s curls.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wanted to write a story about each of the Fossil sisters, but although I could picture Pauline and Petrova's futures, I struggled with Posy. Instead I thought about Posy's mother, who I imagine lived in a world closer to The Whicharts than Ballet Shoes.


End file.
